


Swallowing Loneliness

by Marvin_Cumbawumba



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (but not of Crowley), Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Anal Play, Begging, Belly Kink, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Crying, Dirty Talk, Enemas, Feeding, Food Kink, Food is People, Gardens & Gardening, Inflation, M/M, Macro/Micro, Masochism, Master/Pet, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Oral Sex, Painplay, Sex Pollen, Size Difference, Stuffing, Vore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19374901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvin_Cumbawumba/pseuds/Marvin_Cumbawumba
Summary: Aziraphale is alone on Earth, but some things, like a good meal or pleasant company, soothe any sore feelings away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [prompt](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/493366) by anonymous. 



There is a prevailing and quite pervasive idea that demons were once angels, and that they have fallen from the light of god. This is merely a myth, and in fact, they are a very different species indeed.

Demons have always been a different species from angels. They were known to the angels as household pests, skirting in from the nether-dimensions in order to steal food and cause what mischief as they could. They could be very awfully bad indeed, once they got into contact with any humans they might find, and lended themselves to tempting humans with their voices, pushing them to do things they otherwise wouldn’t. A demon’s voice was at such a pitch as to be inaudible to the human consciousness, and yet they had just enough demonic power wound up in their words that whatever they said would be buried in the human mind regardless.

It was a sudden, abrupt little interruption to their usual train of thought. Kiss him before his wife comes back. Steal it before he turns back to look. Eat the apple, sweetheart. What harm could it do?

Some could resist, and did.

Some could, but _didn’t_.

They were dastardly little monsters, the lot of them, and yet…

They were just so _small_. You would not be entirely remiss in describing the average demon, in human terms, as cute. It was not that they had any sort of neoteny, merely that they were scarcely six inches high, and vaguely human-looking, and humans go in for thinking that sort of thing is as cute as can be. Many a time, your average house demon had been mistaken for a pretty little fairy, and depicted time and time again with little gossamer wings, pretty colours, shining dust left in their wake.

The fact that they were really a sophisticated form of vermin, who would go for the choicest morsels but were nonetheless vermin, rather escaped the notice of most humans, in the case of demons and fairies alike.

And tonight…

Aziraphale, who had once guarded Eden, a great many years before, was just closing up his shop for the night. The fact that it was three o’clock in the afternoon did not register as problematic in this regard. This evening, he would be dining at the Ritz, and he was rather excited about it.

Aziraphale was…

 _Lonely_ might be the word for it.

He was one of the few angels stationed on Earth, and while he did not strictly miss the other angels, with whom he had never entirely fit in (and were in relatively easy contact anyway, even in Heaven), he wished he had… _someone_. He made friends, now and then, with humans, but they had such dreadfully short lives, really, and it was... Well, it was _sad_ , to get too attached to them.

And they never really understood, did they?

But then, nor did the angels.

Aziraphale was not merely lonely. He was alone.

What he could look forward to, tonight, was the _Ritz_. He loved the Ritz. It was fine dining in every sense of the word. Lovely chairs, beautiful music in the background, lightly played upon a piano, and the food, oh, the food, the food was a marvel, and he simply adored every morsel the chef had to offer.

He wished, sometimes, he might enjoy it with someone else, but…

There was a noise, and Aziraphale went quite still, listening. It was so high-pitched a noise as to be entirely inaudible to the human ear, but to Aziraphale’s honed angelic hearing it was audible indeed, and Aziraphale inhaled, feeling a rather excited flush dance across his cheeks.

Oh…

The Ritz _could_ wait, if company was on the table.

 

* * *

 

The demon Crowley swore for a second time.

Glue traps weren’t for the likes of Anthony J. Crowley. Crowley, he was flash, fun, sexy, a _bastard_ – he was _not_ supposed to get stuck in a _glue trap_. This shit was for Hastur, or for Ligur, or one of the junior demons rushing around with no thoughts, not for _him_.

He couldn’t quite get his feet out of his shoes (one of the unfortunate negatives of when your snakeskin shoes were just an extension of _you_ ), and he went very, very still when he heard the door open and click shut again, allowing a little magic to obscure him.

It was a big surprise, therefore, when a plump, well-manicured hand reached out and gently wrapped around him, drawing him away from the glue trap with a delicate movement, as if there had never been any glue on his feet at all. Crowley hissed, trying to struggle through, but as tender as the touch was, it was _firm_ , and he couldn’t quite tug himself free.

“Now now, dear boy,” said the voice the hand belonged to, coming up to support his feet with its other palm. “Don’t make such a fuss.” It was a posh voice. Prissy. English. But… But a human shouldn’t have been able to see him, shouldn’t be able to…

He was carried into a little kitchen. It was a very small, snug space, but there was an oven with six burners on the top, and there were a variety of kitchen appliances lined neatly up on the counter. The open shelves held a variety of kitchen accoutrements, all kinds of funny little tools Crowley couldn’t begin to know the purpose of. It was warm in here, and Crowley watched cautiously through his sunglasses as the door shut with a quiet click.

“Listen,” he said, trying to press his palms against the plump, yielding flesh of the guy’s fingers and get himself free, “you just need to let me go, alright? You _want_ to let me go.”

“Oh, you sweet thing,” said the man, setting him gently down on the little kitchen table, which had space for one diner, but had a neat tablecloth and everything. Crowley immediately lunged for the edge of the table, rushing to get away, but when he came to the edge, he hit an invisible wall, and he cried out.

“Hey! You _prat_!” Crowley hissed, glaring up at the man as he leaned forward, and came into view. He was plump, in his fifties, and he had white-blond curls that neatly framed his face, as well as a pair of oval-shaped spectacles he’d settled on his nose, which was square. He had blue-green eyes, and blushing cheeks, and he _smiled_. He was… good-looking, Crowley supposed. He’d be attractive, were he a normal size, instead of ridiculously huge. He looked comfortable. Nice. “How’d you…”

Crowley looked at the edge of the table. Pressed his palm against it.

Swallowed.

“You’re an angel,” he said, his stomach sinking.

“Oh, yes,” said the angel, beaming at him. “My name is Aziraphale. What’s yours, little demon?”

“I’m not _little_. Your lot are just big, aren’t you?”

“Well, my dear boy, in comparison, even a chihuahua would be rather big, I fear.”

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest. “Crowley,” he muttered.

“ _Crowley_. How darling. You must be hungry, no?”

Crowley hesitated. Angels were… Well, dangerous. They could actually _see_ a demon, which was more than humans could, and given that they were on the side of good, whereas a demon was on the side of mischief, well, a demon that actually met an angel was usually in for a quick and sudden discorporation. They’d get hold of another little body eventually, and be able to squirm back into the Earthly dimensions, but it’d take a while.

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “What’s it to you?”

“Well, I might make you something to eat,” Aziraphale said, turning away from Crowley and picking up a frying pan. Crowley stared at his arse, at its plump, fat swell beneath his trousers, so big from Crowley’s perspective it might as well have been a pair of very arousing hills. “Saves you from stealing anything, doesn’t it? Do you like bolognese? Er, well, it’s not strictly bolognese, because I’m going to add a few different vegetables to the wine reduction, but…”

Crowley frowned. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“ _Kill_ you?” the angel asked, turning his head and looking horrified. “No, no, just… A meal.”

“What’s the bloody forcefield for?”

Aziraphale turned to look at him, and he bit his lip, looking guilty. “Er, well. I thought you might fall. It’s dreadfully high for you, no?”

“Oh,” Crowley said, and he leaned back on bare air, treating it as he might a chair. He crossed one leg over the other. “Right.” Nodding, and giving Crowley a shy little smile, Aziraphale turned back to the hob.

A _meal_. That was…

Well, that was unexpected. _Nice_ , but unexpected. And to think, he’d been ready to sneak into the angel’s fridge and help himself… _Saves you from stealing_. What a trip. It wasn’t an easy life, being a demon. Things were hard. You had to go somewhere for food, and humans, well, humans sort of deserved to be stolen from, at least sometimes.

Not all humans. Not the ones who went hungry themselves, not the _good_ ones, but…

Well, some of them. Some of them you could steal from.

“Didn’t know there were many angels on Earth,” Crowley said.

“Oh, there aren’t many,” Aziraphale said, putting water on to boil for the spaghetti. “You know, just a few, knocking about… Are there many demons?”

“Nah,” Crowley lied, running a hand through his hair, and he reached up, pulling off his sunglasses. Not all demons liked human fashions. They changed very quickly, and it was hard to keep track of them, but Crowley liked them, Crowley liked all the colours, the fabrics, and the _sunglasses_? Yes, he liked those a lot. “You just cook for anyone who comes over?”

“Not many people come over,” Aziraphale said, his back to Crowley. There was a sort of… well, a _pause_ in the words. A hesitation. A catch in the throat. “I thought it would be rather nice, to have a dining companion.”

“Oh,” Crowley said.

“I’ve always been dreadfully interested in demons,” Aziraphale confessed, waving an idle hand, and Crowley watched as some vegetables trotted obediently from the fridge and began chopping themselves on the counter beside him, even as Aziraphale set some mince meat into the pan. “You’re just so… Well, you know. Such an enigma. Pop up in all sorts of fairy stories.”

Crowley glanced back to the door, thinking of the bookshop he’d snuck into from one of the gaps to the street. “You like books?” he asked.

“Oh, _immensely_ ,” Aziraphale said. “I just think it’s so ingenious of them, these humans, you now, coming up with all these tales and stories, all these ideas… Angels have only written one or two little accounts of anything, and it’s not very interesting. For the most part. Do demons read?”

“Nope,” Crowley said.

“Oh,” Aziraphale replied, sounding a bit put-out.

“I like TV though,” Crowley offered. “ _Golden Girls?”_

“I don’t own a television,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve seen a few things in cinemas, though, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Crowley asked, taking in the angel’s two-hundred-year-old suit. “What was the last thing you saw?”

“Er, _City Lights_?”

“With Chaplin?”

“Indeed! Talented fellow.”

“Angel, that film came out sixty years ago!”

“Oh.”

It was surprisingly easy, chatting to the angel. He wasn’t, Crowley suspected, very good at being an angel. Crowley wasn’t an expert in these lofty theological matters, but he was fairly certain angels weren’t meant to like food, or clothes, or books, and if they did, they weren’t meant to like them _nearly_ as much as this angel did.

The bolognese, though, smelled _amazing_ , and it had been the longest time since Crowley had actually had _hot_ food. Aziraphale brought over a plate of it, and Crowley groaned, his stomach giving an eager growl. It smelled spectacular, and he looked over the finely diced vegetables, the mince, the _sauce_ , the pasta…

Crowley was a fastidious demon. He didn’t eat with his hands, even when he was _starving_ , which he wasn’t quite, but he was certainly hungry.

He conjured a knife and fork, perching on the edge of the plate, and he cut off individual pieces of mince, of spaghetti, of aubergine, onion, tomato, and _bless_ , but it was good. He couldn’t help but moan as he ate, tasting it all. Aziraphale was taking small, prim tastes from his own fork, but he was watching Crowley, watching him…

Oh.

“Thanks,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale relaxed slightly, and smiled. “Ah. You’re quite welcome, dear boy. Dashing eyes you’ve got there. Very snakeish.”

“C’n be a sssn’ke,” Crowley said through a mouthful of mince, and then he swallowed. It was _delicious_ , fatty and heavy where it ran down his gullet, but it was much nicer than a few crackers and some cheese, or some crisps, or whatever else was usually accessible.

He knew he was eating more than he usually would, but it was hard to resist, it really was. The angel was a good cook, and this, this was a _delight_. He groaned, reaching down to subtly unbutton his skinny jeans, just as Aziraphale said, “Some bread?”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale moved to get him some. It was that lovely, white-crusted stuff with flour on the outside, with the soft, heavy white in the middle, and Crowley took a handful of it and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing and _tasting_ it on his tongue.

“Goodness,” Aziraphale said. “You _are_ hungry.”

“Don’t usually get home cooking,” Crowley replied with a wink, and the angel actually fidgeted slightly, a pink flush dancing over his cheeks. Crowley licked his lips. He knew some demons who’d _done_ it, with a human. Only ever when they’d think it was a dream, obviously, but a few of them had, they had, just with tongues, or put themselves against the human’s cock… How different could it be with an angel?

He dug back into the spaghetti.

When he’d finally had enough, he groaned, sitting back. He had a slight roundedness to his usually flat stomach, and he rubbed it absently through his shirt.

“Oh, I think you can manage a bit more than that,” said the angel softly. “You said you were hungry.”

“If I eat anymore, my shirt will rip,” Crowley mumbled.

“Well, then,” Aziraphale replied, “why don’t you take it off?”

Crowley stared at him. He knew his pupils were doing _that thing_. His mouth felt dry. Was this meant to be sexy? Aziraphale’s gaze was certainly very intent, and Crowley shifted, palming himself through his trousers, not breaking eye contact with the angel as he did so. Aziraphale’s blush deepened. When Crowley spoke, it was with a slight hiss. “Okay… Ssshirt off.”

He slowly unbuttoned it, pulling it off his arms, and then for good measure he slithered out of his jeans, too. He didn’t wear underwear. Underwear, that just wasn’t _cool_ , and demons, demons were cool.

How do you ask an angel to have sex with you?

Crowley wasn’t sure.

He palmed his cock, in an idle, casual way, as if it wasn’t at anyone in particular. He saw Aziraphale lick his lips.

Crowley moved forward, sitting once more on the edge of the plate, and Aziraphale reached for the fork he’d set aside. It was ridiculously tiny between Aziraphale’s finger and thumb, but he was delicate in taking a piece of mince, bringing it to Crowley’s mouth. It was a _big_ piece, and it filled his whole mouth, but it was juicy and still warm, tasting of salt and meat and tomato, and he chewed it slowly, swallowing it down.

Aziraphale set the fork aside, and the next piece he gave to Crowley, he gave it with his fingers, letting Crowley drag his tongue against his thumb, where he let out a giddy little noise.

He kept feeding him.

It was…

It was kind of too much, but it was _sexy_ , the way Aziraphale was watching him with such focus, with such… _intensity_. Were all angels this intense? Aziraphale kept fidgeting now and then, but he kept feeding him pieces of bolognese and pasta, his pretty fingers stained red with the tomato, and the _bread_ , too…

Crowley was feeling heavy, now. His belly was cramping just a little, and it felt tight and hot and much too full. He shifted, leaning backward to try to relieve a little of the pressure, and groaned when he caught a glimpse of himself, rounded out just a bit, now, with a little pot belly.

“Oh, so _handsome_ ,” Aziraphale whispered, and with his fingers supporting Crowley’s back, his thumb rubbed a delicate circle over the tight, taut skin. Crowley moaned, leaning back into the angel’s hand, because it _hurt_ , but it was a hot, soothing pain, one that made the cramps die down just a little bit, and Aziraphale’s touch was so _warm_. “Goodness, aren’t you looking full?”

“Can barely move,” Crowley said, plaintively spreading his legs apart, although it made his stomach feel even heavier, giving a lurching cramp that Aziraphale soothed with his thumb. His prick was hard, though, rubbing up against his fat belly, and Aziraphale cooed over it, letting his thumb come lower, just brushing against it.

“You can’t eat just a _little_ more?” Aziraphale coaxed, and brought another mouthful to Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley ate it, slowly, chewing and swallowing in the most languorous way possible, and as he did so Aziraphale rewarded him with a gentle rub against his prick, something he could thrust up and into, but _oh_ , it made his swollen gut _ache_.

“There,” Aziraphale purred. “I think that’s quite enough. Just the cream cheese to go, now!”

“Oh, angel, no, I can’t eat another bite…”

“I shouldn’t worry about that, darling thing,” Aziraphale said soothingly, and patted his hair. “Up you get now.”

“Up I _get_?” Crowley asked, incredulous. He was stuffed full to the _brim_ , and were he not, you know, a demon, with magic making him a little bit more able for this sort of thing than most, he’d probably be feeling sick right about now. As it stood, he just felt… Well, full. Full, and cramping, and turned on, but…

Aziraphale took him gently by his shoulders, lifting him to his feet, and Crowley groaned in pain, his hands moving to support his heavy stomach in upright position. He felt like he’d eaten his _weight_ in pasta, and he whimpered as Aziraphale gently brought him forward, bending him over a wooden implement he’d set on the table, Crowley’s elbows on its wooden surface. He was bent nearly double, his belly hanging down and pressed against the edge of the demon-sized table, which was padded with worn leather, and he grunted, moving to pull away, but...

Two twin straps came down over his wrists, pinning him in place, and he gasped, trying to tug himself out of them, thrusting a little magic into the movement, but they just wouldn’t budge. His belly was _hurting_ , hanging rounded off beneath him, and he felt so _heavy_ …

“Angel,” he moaned. “What are you _doing_?”

“Shush, shush,” Aziraphale cooed, and he stroked one hot finger down the length of Crowley’s back, making him shiver. The finger pressed lower, massaging over Crowley’s arsecheeks, and then he gently parted them with a finger and thumb, letting warm air catch on Crowley’s hole, and Crowley whimpered.

“What—”

Aziraphale blew more air over it, and then his hand moved, gently tapping his belly. Crowley jumped, choking out a whimper. “You’re like a little raviolo, my dear. Stuffed half-full!”

“Half-full?” Crowley repeated disbelievingly. “Angel, if I had anything else in me, I’d _burst_.”

“Do you think?” Aziraphale asked sweetly.

 

* * *

 

 

Oh, Aziraphale _did_ like this part.

He had considered just sort of… Well, _asking_ , except that he rather thought it would be a little too suspicious, and he so hated it when the demons got fussy and made a lot of noise and bother about it all. And this one, handsome little Crowley, he’d been so… _amenable_ , thus far. So terribly amenable. And now he was just a _picture_ , his flat little belly made plump with stuffing, and he just needed a little bit more attention.

He rather _had_ been…

More than amenable actually.

He’d been sweet. Rather charming. _Darling_ , in fact. He was darling.

“ _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley whined, and Aziraphale petted him absently, reaching for his enema kit.

He was rather pleased with his custom-made tools, made quite a long while ago now. The little table had leather cushioning on it (Aziraphale did consider a demon’s comfort up ‘til the last, but they were just so _delectable_ ), neat straps in place to keep the wrists still, and then he had a taller pole upon which to hang the little enema bag, which was only a little smaller than a teabag, perfectly sized for a demon. He dabbed a little of the water from the kettle against his wrist, checking it wasn’t still steaming, and no, no, it was nice and warm, but not unpleasantly hot.

He pressed his finger very delicately between Crowley’s beautiful little arsecheeks, daubing some lubricant there, and Crowley let out such a _delectable_ wail of noise, making Aziraphale’s lips twitch. He did feel the slightest smidgen of guilt. Usually the demons were… Different. Rough, tough little things. Not like Crowley, so polite, so darling…

Aziraphale slid the enema nozzle up against his arse, the tiniest little thing in the _world_ , and hung the enema bag up on its designated hook.

“Now,” he said reasonably, “this will only feel a little strange, dear.”

“Wh… _Augh…!”_

Aziraphale drew the kettle back, watching the water drain down the rubber piping and into the nozzle pressed into the demon’s pert little arse, making him jump and whimper in his place. The more water he could take like _this_ , the more filling he’d be able to take, and Aziraphale was rather on tenterhooks at the whole _idea_ … Crowley was a good deal skinnier than most demons Aziraphale had partaken of in the past, and yet he’d taken the rest of the stuffing so terribly well, so greedy as he had been, and that little prick of his, so _adorable_!

Aziraphale watched the little bag drain, and he reached beneath the demon, stroking his belly gently in easy, rhythmic circles, making the demon wail at the top of his little lungs.

“It _hurts_ ,” Crowley whimpered pitifully, and Aziraphale cooed over him.

“There there,” he said sympathetically, and poured another capful of water into the bag, listening to the way Crowley’s moaned raised in pitch and volume once more. Massaging the demon as he was, he coaxed more water into him, just enough to clean him out, of course, but to get him nice and _ready_ … “Oh, you’re going to be so beautifully fat, Crowley, stuffed right to the brim…”

Crowley released a sob of noise, trying to move, and Aziraphale leaned down, watching the way his little belly _bulged_ with everything in it. Not just the spaghetti and the bolognese, but all this water, oh, he was delightfully stretchy, so much better than _others_ he’d had in the past…

“Can demons get pregnant, Crowley?” he asked, in a mild tone. “You’d be nearly to term, with a belly like this.”

Crowley yelped, and Aziraphale kept on stroking his belly, pressing on it and feeling the liquid move within him, so deliciously packed full. Feeling just the tiniest bit cruel, he tapped it harder, and he watched Crowley sway on his unsteady feet, letting out a scream as his belly sloshed and swung underneath him, his little legs trembling.

“Oh, you’re taking _such_ a lot,” Aziraphale said, voice full of praise. “How much until you popped, do you think?”

“ _Augh_ ,” Crowley moaned, and Aziraphale chuckled, stroking his back with one finger.

“Oh, you are just _delicious_ ,” he said, and filled the enema bag just once more… Oh, yes. Yes, Crowley _would_ be a meal and a half, just a delightful little morsel, filled so entirely to the brim, and Aziraphale marvelled at the size of his belly, so very _full…_ Crowley’s knees buckled under the weight of it, but before he could fall, Aziraphale caught him by his hips, holding him firmly between finger and thumb as he unbuckled the little demon’s wrists. Understanding seemed to be dawning, and he could see the demon panicking as he struggled, but his belly was far too heavy and large for him to do much at all, if anything. “You’re going to be such a decadence, my dear.”

“ _Please_ …” Crowley moaned as Aziraphale lifted him, setting him over a tray as he worked the nozzle free, and Crowley sobbed out a yowling cry as he voided out all the water.

“Shush, dear, it’s alright,” Aziraphale said gently, holding him beneath his arms, and with the other finger, he pressed gently on Crowley’s belly, delighting in the way he cried out and struggled. He could feel the hard little parcel of the stuffing, so different to the easy yield of the water as it sloshed into the tray, and he kept gently rubbing until the last of the water had drained out. “Nearly done, dear, nearly there…”

“You don’t have to,” Crowley whimpered, and Aziraphale took brought over a different nozzle.

“Would you rather be on your back, or back over the table?”

“Let me _go_!”

“On your back it is,” Aziraphale said cheerfully, and he lay the demon in his lap, dropping him into the valley between his thighs and moving whip-fast to tie his little wrists behind his back. “This nozzle is a little bit wider than the other one, I’m afraid.”

He watched the demon’s face, his wide eyed horror, as he beheld the filling nozzle – it _was_ thicker than the other nozzle, a great deal more so, and but it was more tapered, so that the wide base would keep the demon’s pretty little arsehole held open.

“No,” Crowley moaned, shaking his head as Aziraphale daubed some lubricant onto it. “No, n… _naugh_ , Aziraphale, Aziraphale…!”

“Shush now, dear, don’t make such a fuss, it’s unbecoming,” Aziraphale said, and carefully lined the nozzle up against the tight little pucker of Crowley’s arse, delicately sliding it forward. It went in easily, so relaxed as the demon was from the warm water enema, no matter how much he wished to struggle, and he pushed the demon’s thighs a little wider apart.

“Please, don’t, don’t,” Crowley moaned, but Aziraphale was already carefully squeezing the stuffing bag, watching it shift. He watched the demon’s face, and when it changed, his mouth opening, his brows raising, his expression a rictus of confused sensation, Aziraphale felt a thrill run down his spine. Oh, yes, he _did_ like this bit.

“Not too cold?” he asked, and squeezed again, reaching up to help Crowley’s poor belly along, rubbing gently in encouraging circles with his thumb. The cream cheese was a good deal thicker than the water was, and needed more encouragement, but it was going in delightfully easy. Such a shame that all demons weren’t so perfect to work with…

Crowley’s little belly was stuffed easily, and Aziraphale didn’t stop until he had his belly as ridiculously large as it had been before, rounded out heavily from him so that he looked entirely pregnant, and so full, so _full_ …

There were tears on Crowley’s cheeks, and Aziraphale sighed with satisfaction, patting his full belly and delighting in the sobbing keen it evoked, as well as, _most_ intriguingly, the little stutter of the demon’s hips.

“You aren’t… _goodness_ , you dastardly thing, are you aroused?” Aziraphale crowed, unable to hold back his delight, and he stroked the fat obscenity of the demon’s belly, peering down at his hard prick as he worked the last of the cheese filling into him.

“ _No_ ,” Crowley moaned.

“I wonder if you could eat anymore,” Aziraphale mused, reaching for the little plug he’d carved with a thought from some of the hard cheese, and working it into Crowley to replace the nozzle. Oh, _delicious_ , he’d be so delicious…

“No,” Crowley said, “no, no, no, I can’t, I can’t!”

“Of course you can,” Aziraphale said encouragingly. He drummed his fingers playfully against the fat swell of Crowley’s belly, and he delighted in the way the demon yelled, but didn’t even _struggle_ , he was so deliciously far gone… “And maybe if you do…”

“If I do?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, and winked. Crowley whimpered: his little cock gave the tiniest jerk. Heavens, he was a strange duck. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

 

* * *

 

Crowley couldn’t move.

Not because of the way his hands were tied behind his back, or the position he was in on the angel’s surprisingly warm, plump, comfortable thighs, but because his belly was so full and heavy he actually couldn’t _lift_ it. He was immobilised by it, immobilised by the weight of the slightly-cool cream cheese the angel had stuffed inside him, and he could no longer see his own cock, his own knees, over the huge swell of the belly. He looked more than pregnant. He looked swollen, rotund, and he was so certain, _certain_ that the angel was going to eat him, and what could he do? How was he meant to get away, and why was his body _reacting_? Why was his cock so _hard_?

“Up you get,” the angel said.

“I _can’t_ ,” Crowley said plaintively, and the angel laughed, lifting him and making his belly swing heavily. It hurt, ached, stung, and his whole body was cramping, the weight of the cheese inside him so obscene he felt like he would burst with it.

He’d been terrified, as Aziraphale had pumped him full of it, that he really would _pop_ , he’d been so certain, so certain that he would…

Aziraphale set him on his feet, and his knees immediately buckled under the obscene weight of his belly: he landed hard on his arse, and Aziraphale laughed at the way he screamed at the _pain_ , the way it juddered all the stuffing pressed into him, like he was a turkey for Christmas dinner…

“Don’t eat me,” Crowley begged.

“Eat, dear boy, and do be quiet,” Aziraphale said pleasantly, and brought a spoonful of warm spaghetti to his mouth. He didn’t wait for Crowley to eat at his own pace, this time. He forcefed him, pressing more into his mouth and massaging his throat to induce him to swallow, and Crowley wailed his way through it, choking down more mouthfuls of food than he knew what to do with.

“You are _rotund_ ,” he finally said, with an air of satisfaction, pressing down on Crowley’s belly with two fingers. It made Crowley cramp, the pain shooting through his hard-worked muscles, but it made his cock jump too, and he heard Aziraphale laugh. “You are a funny little thing,” he murmured, and he leaned forward, setting Crowley down on his back on the leather-padded miniature table, his thighs hanging off the edge.

His belly was so heavy he couldn’t even roll to one side to the other, but when Aziraphale’s tongue, a pink, wet bud of a thing, surprisingly dextrous, touched against his cock, he made the mistake of trying to lurch, as if he’d sit up, but…

It made his whole body feel like he was going to _explode_ , and he just yelled, feeling Aziraphale’s tongue flick against his hard cock, and then lick a stripe over his rounded-off belly, and it was so _warm_ , warm, and wet, and so close to his mouth… Aziraphale grazed with his teeth, just pressing down a _little_ , and Crowley screamed, his exhausted legs trying to kick, but Aziraphale only laughed at him, and wiggled the plug pressed in him with his finger, pressing it right against Crowley’s prostate, as he licked over his cock again.

When Crowley came, his whole body tightened, his belly jumping, and he wailed at the mixed pain and _pleasure_ of it all, the way the fear ran hot in his veins and filled him up just like the rest, and then he fell back, breathing heavily, still pinned.

Aziraphale sighed, his chin on his hand as he looked down at Crowley, his finger playing absently with the plug in his arse and making his vision go periodically dark at its edges, it was so overstimulating.

“You are just _adorable_ ,” he said. “We’re meant to destroy you, you know. Demons were responsible for the original sin: it’s our charge as angels to destroy every one of you we come across. And I, I don’t believe I am wrong to say, have found one of the most _delicious_ ways of dispatching you monstrous little fiends…” He tapped Crowley’s belly, and Crowley moaned. “But I must say, you are just _enchanting_.”

“Lemme go,” Crowley moaned, and Aziraphale laughed.

“Let you go? Of course.” He pulled his finger away, and gave Crowley a sardonic look. “Up you get, dear, and totter off to wherever you wish.” Crowley tried to swing his legs over the side of the table, but he couldn’t even _move_ them that far, his belly a great weight keeping him stuck fast in his place. “Mmm, that’s what I thought. But as delicious as I’m sure you _are_ , my dear, it seems such a shame to eat you when you’ve such a dazzling little personality…”

“Don’t,” Crowley begged. “Don’t eat me, angel, _pleassse_ …”

“And you _are_ stretchy,” Aziraphale mused, palpating Crowley’s belly and making pain rocket through him, but even as he did so, Crowley’s cock gave a traitorous jerk between his legs. “So many, many possibilities with a body like this one…”

“’ll do anything,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale arched an eyebrow.

“ _Anything_?” he repeated.

“Pleassse…”

“You poor little thing,” Aziraphale murmured, stroking his hair. “You are just too _scrumptious_ for words… But no, no, I think I will keep you for a while, at least. You know what that means, though?”

“Mm?”

Aziraphale’s nail dragged on the plug, pulling it out of him, and Crowley watched, dry-mouthed, as Aziraphale ate it, and then came in lower.

“No, no, no…!”

Aziraphale _sucked_ at the cheese thick inside him, and Crowley yowled as he pressed down on Crowley’s belly, palpating it to get the stuff out of him quicker, and it was so messy, and strange, and it _hurt_ …

And once more, his cock was hard.

* * *

  

Later that night, a black velvet ribbon tied around his neck like a collar, Crowley writhed and moaned in Aziraphale’s palm as the angel lapped at his arse and his cock, making his whole body jerk and jump.

He didn’t come until Aziraphale said, in a mild and pleasant tone, “You know, I think you’d be better as a sweet than a savoury anyway.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was late evening in Mr A. Zirafell’s bookshop, which had been closed for the evening, and he had retired to his backroom. Reclining on the settee there, a glass of Prieur Montrachet in his hand, he watched as his newest toy struggled in his bonds, and made the most tempting little noises.

Around his neck was _usually_ a collar of black velvet trim, and although Aziraphale had taken away his other clothes, he’d given him a pretty pair of velvet cuffs to wear on his wrists, he was otherwise quite nude. For the moment, of course, both the collar and cuffs were neatly set aside, that they not be stained too dreadfully, and Aziraphale had set his sunglasses most directly aside, all the better to see the little demon’s snakeish eyes with.

It had been a delightful evening so far.

He had taken the demon up, had played with him for quite the while, holding his little body in his palm, flicking his tongue over his adorable prick and making him whimper. Crowley’s cum, Aziraphale had discovered, tasted rather sweet, and it was _delicious_ , just a lovely addition to an already mouth-watering little morsel.

And how he had begged when the pump had come out!

Looking wide-eyed up at Aziraphale, tears on his cheeks, begging, “Angel, angel, don’t, don’t, please…”

Aziraphale had ignored him, of course, just chuckled at the little demon and slid the nozzle into his pretty backside. This one had been wide enough that the demon hadn’t been able to close his legs together, and he had made such a fuss about it, crying and whimpering, kicking out so uselessly as Aziraphale had squeezed the icing bag, working more filling into him, bit by bit.

It was _far_ lighter than the cream cheese had been, so there was really nothing to make such a to-do about, a whipped cream with hints of strawberry, and he had chided Crowley for his commotion.

“My dear, _really_ , there’s no need for all this silly crying. Do you want me to _give_ you something to cry about?”

That had shut him up.

Crowley had went quiet, his lips pressed together, but he had still let out whimpering little noises as Aziraphale had squeezed more of the filling into him, pressing on and playing with his belly as it was swollen up nice and fat for him, all that deliciousness packed neatly inside…

“You know,” he had said conversationally, massaging the heavy, rounded off belly as he’d squeezed just a little more into the demon, really testing his limits and unable not to chuckle at the way he squeaked and jerked, “I did this to a demon once, and he just popped, cream everywhere! Such noise he made, just like you! I had to eat him right then and there, my dear, to keep from making more of a mess.”

Oh, the crying had started again in _earnest_ , then, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t wanted to provoke it.

It was rather cute, seeing what a brouhaha the little demon made over such little things, such tiny implications. He’d settled a plug into him (a chocolate one, this time) and had such a delightful time making him _feel_ the weight of the cream inside him, playing with his belly, twisting the plug in his arse…

He had cum, in fact, just from Aziraphale flicking the plug a little bit, and palpating the fat, heavy little mass of his drawn-taut belly, and how red the darling little thing had gone, how embarrassed he’d been at his salaciousness!

Aziraphale had scarcely waited between licking up that lovely demonic ejaculate and dropping him into the jar of honey, in which he was now struggling.

“You do look a _treat_ , Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his tone full of praise, and he took a sip of his wine. Crowley whimpered, doing his best to keep on top of the surface of the honey, his legs and feet kicking out even as his full belly weighed him down, a pregnant bump that came away from his body. Oh, Aziraphale just wanted to _eat_ him…

But no, no.

Crowley was simply adorable. That would be far too final.

“ _Angel_ , please…!” he cried out plaintively, gasping as he managed to hold his head above the golden thickness on his every side, and as he gasped in, his belly moved most enticingly, juddering in the thick liquid, and Aziraphale smiled, reaching in and catching him by his bare shoulders.

He brought the demon to his mouth, and Crowley wailed, but Aziraphale ignored him, sliding his tongue through the honey and tasting it on his tongue, feeling the slight salt of the demon’s skin as an undertone, and he hummed, flicking out the plug.

“Angel, angel, angel,” Crowley moaned, and Aziraphale gently drew Crowley’s legs into his mouth, pressing with his lips on the fat swell of his belly, feeling the pressure release immediately, shooting some of the cream into his mouth, where it mixed well with the honey. He sucked, delighting in the judder and jerk of Crowley’s body, at the tickle of his hands where they grabbed uselessly at Aziraphale’s mouth, and Aziraphale licked him clean, squeezing just hard enough about his darling belly to make Crowley scream.

He threatened with his teeth on Crowley’s body, now made soft and flat, and he had to suppress his laugh at the way the demon froze and went oh-so-still… And then, oh then, his cock sputtered for a third time, and Aziraphale tasted its sweetness.

He drew Crowley from his mouth, lapping up the spare honey on his chin and licking him clean, and he let himself chuckle as the demon panted and shivered in his palms.

“You _are_ a silly duck,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley shivered, but when Aziraphale brought him close to his chest, he was immediately pressing close, his face against Aziraphale’s shirt, his body plastered to him. “I wonder how much you _could_ stretch…”

Crowley whimpered, and Aziraphale laughed, his fingers playing over his back.


	3. Chapter 3

He couldn’t actually escape.

He had tried. But the bookshop, it turned out, was sort of locked somehow, so that you could come in through the cracks in the walls and the eaves, but couldn’t really go out again, with a sort of forcefield in the way. And Aziraphale did let him have the run of the bookshop, when he was reading, or doing his taxes on his computer, or cooking, which he did often. Even more often, he would order in something from one of the restaurants in Soho.

He _liked_ food, and he took a lot of pleasure with it, and there was something… funny about that. Not funny ha-ha, but funny, oh, my prick is hard, right, fine. And Crowley didn’t think your prick was meant to be hard over a man that kept making like he was going to eat you, literal angel or not.

“My dear, I _do_ wish you’d cease to be so ridiculous. I did tell you I wouldn’t actually eat you, didn’t I? Hm? Didn’t I promise?” Aziraphale said primly, taking a sip of his tea as Crowley sat in another teacup, dipping his head beneath the water and washing the syrup out of his hair (raspberry, this time). It was _sticky_. The water was pleasantly hot, though, and Aziraphale had put a tiny bit of bubble bath into it, so it was sudsy and full of bubbles. It was _nice_ , except for the sticky elements.

“More shampoo,” he said plaintively, sticking his hands out over the side o fht emug, and Aziraphale’s expression became momentarily very severe, catching Crowley’s gaze over his glasses. Crowley squirmed in his mug of hot water. “Please.”

Aziraphale took up the bottle (one of those little bottles, like you got in hotels), and squeezed a little bit into Crowley’s palms, which Crowley brought back to his head, scrubbing into his hair.

“Such a pretty little thing you are,” Aziraphale cooed, putting his finger into the water and playing over Crowley’s backside, making him yelp. His body responded, though, his prick giving a thrill of excitement, and he shoved his head under the water, soaking it to get out the rest of the syrup. “So fastidious, so clean!”

“Not when you get me dirty.”

“My dear, I do a good job getting you clean again, do I not?” Aziraphale replied, and licked his lips in a lascivious fashion that made Crowley shiver. He wasn’t meant to be _sexy_ … But then, Crowley couldn’t escape. He couldn’t go anywhere, he couldn’t get away… Might as well enjoy what he could. “You lovely little thing. And I did _say_ …”

“Angel,” Crowley said, putting his hands on the side of the mug and pushing himself up onto his palms, clambering out, “I hope you take this with the constructive spirit in which it is intended, but it isn’t very comforting for you to tell me you’re not going to eat me when you keep putting sauces in me or on me, or _marinating_ me, or… or putting me in your mouth.”

“That seems like a trust issue on your part rather than mine,” Aziraphale said mildly, and held out a fluffy towel. It was for dolls, or Sylvanian Families, or something, but it was _very_ soft and fluffy, and Aziraphale had been holding it around his mug, so that it was very warm. Crowley took a step forward, and Aziraphale began to gently towel him off, bringing it back and forth over his skin. “You _must_ take me at my word, my dear boy. I am an angel, after all.”

“An angel who eats people!”

“Are you a person?” Aziraphale asked, arching a sceptical eyebrow. “ _I’m_ certainly not a person. I fail to see how _you_ meet the minimum requirements.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but couldn’t think of a very good one, and so he closed his mouth again. He set his jaw.

“Well, I’m _sentient_ , aren’t I?” Crowley asked.

“The argument is on that so are cows, dear, but I eat those.”

“Not _whole_.”

“No, not whole,” Aziraphale agreed patiently, and began towelling off Crowley’s hair. “Imagine how I would look with a cow inside me. How patently ridiculous.”

“But you’re not eating _me_.”

“No, no. But then, if I had a pet cow, I wouldn’t eat him or her either.”

“Is that what I am? A _pet_?”

“What did you think you were? A houseplant?”

Aziraphale set the towel aside, neatly folded, and then reached for the collar and cuffs. He liked for Crowley to wear the collar and cuffs, and Crowley no longer struggled as Aziraphale set the band of velvet around his neck, then setting the twin ones around his wrists.

“You’ve not _got_ anything for me,” Crowley said mulishly. “If I’m a pet. Let me sit on your chest.”

“You really _are_ without the manners today, aren’t you?”

“You never say please and thank you to _me_.”

“Please, Crowley, don’t be unpleasant.”

“Me! _Unpleasant!”_

“Do you want to sit on my chest or not?” Aziraphale asked in a pleasant tone of voice. Crowley squirmed. It wasn’t that it was cold in the shop, just that Crowley himself ran rather cold, and Aziraphale was always very warm. Enticingly warm. And lying on his chest, Crowley could always feel his heartbeat, sort of thumping through his whole body, and more than that, Aziraphale couldn’t sneak up on him and catch him by surprise.

“Yes, please,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale picked him up, setting him at the opening of Aziraphale’s shirt collar, so that he could sit slightly inside the silk and lie back in Aziraphale’s chest hair, which was surprisingly soft. Crowley curled one hand against his shirt, pressing his face against Aziraphale’s chest, ignoring the fact that his hair was still damp, and the angel shifted slightly. He reached up, stroking Crowley’s side and his legs through the fabric of his own shirt. “I’m just _saying_ ,” Crowley said as his eyes closed, “if I was your pet, you’d get me, you know, like… Toys. And things.”

“You want toys?” Aziraphale asked wryly, taking a sip of his tea. “Perhaps a little ball with a bell inside? A feather toy? A vibrator?”

“Or a _bed_.”

“My dear, I’ve had you for three weeks, and I haven’t known you to sleep anywhere but on my body. I put you on the cushion on top of the radiator when I went out for a midnight snack, and you were still pacing when I came back.”

“I was trying to escape, actually.”

“Mmm hmm,” Aziraphale replied. He didn’t sound convinced, and Crowley scowled, pressing his face into the angel’s chest and smelling his cologne. “What do you want, then, dear boy? Perhaps a litter tray? A doll’s house? One of those darling little model train sets to ride about on?”

There was a moment’s silence as they both considered the last suggestion. Aziraphale was thinking it would be a rather nifty thing to have about, and most adorable indeed; Crowley was thinking it would be _very_ cool to sit on top of one of those little whistling steam trains as it went around on the miniature tracks, and that it could go all around the shop.

Crowley coughed. “ _No_ ,” he said, feeling his cheeks go red. “Of course not. I’m not Stuart Little. I don’t want a bloody _doll’s house_.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Is he another demon?”

“N… God’s _sake_ , angel, it’s a book! E.B. White!”

“I’ll put it on my list.”

“I just want something to _do_.”

“Why not read, dear?”

“I hate reading.”

“You just referenced some obscure book I’ve never heard of.”

“It’s not obscure!”

Aziraphale’s fingers went back to idly stroking Crowley’s side, and Crowley relaxed underneath it despite himself. It was… It felt good, being stroked. Crowley had never been stroked before. He’d never had anyone let him lie on them, either, not even another demon. And there were nice things in Aziraphale’s shop – Aziraphale’s comfortable chair, Aziraphale’s comfortable pockets (he had fallen asleep in Aziraphale’s pocket one day, and Aziraphale had gone out to the Ritz and stopped into the butcher’s with Crowley in there), and… Not that the angel was nice. He was a terrifying murderer who ate people. Uh. Demons.  But he was _soft_. And he stroked Crowley so gently…

“And what sort of things _do_ you like to do?” Aziraphale asked.

“Sleep.”

“Yes, I gathered that. Anything else?”

“I like… gardening,” Crowley said.

“Gardening?”

“You know. Plants.”

“I am familiar with the premise.”

* * *

 

A few months later, there were… routines.

Crowley did not, in fact, have a doll’s house. He did have a doll’s bed, which was on Aziraphale’s desk, and he never slept in it, but sometimes he sat on it, or lay under the sheets when Aziraphale was moving about the shop too much and he couldn’t sleep in his pocket. He also had a doll’s chest of drawers, in which he kept his clothes, which Aziraphale actually let him wear, so long as he kept the collar on.

Aziraphale had put a little ladder on the side of the desk, and a few on the shelves around the shop, and on the kitchen table. Aziraphale, not satisfied

And then, there was Crowley’s garden.

It had been fascinating, watching Aziraphale actually build the thing. He had had the… _things_ he used, the pumps and so on, commissioned specially, and he had “spruced up” (his phrasing) the doll furniture for Crowley, but _this_ he’d actually made himself. He’d gotten one of those wooden tables, reinforced, that they used for train sets, and filled it in with _real_ soil on every side, about twelve inches deep. In the centre, he’d actually set in a swimming pool that was meant to be for Barbie dolls, and it was filled with real, warm water, and a little filter, like fish had in their aquariums.

It was _nice_.

There was one strip of the table that Crowley wasn’t supposed to use, so that when Aziraphale _did_ get a train set, he could lay the tracks over that strip, but the rest of it was for Crowley, and Crowley _used_ it.

Heat lamps were laid over the top of the garden, which was a square six foot on each side, the lamps on for fourteen hours a day, and Crowley grew _flowers_. He grew flowers, and big, leafy plants, and even had one or two succulents at the edge. With Aziraphale’s assistance, he had laid paths through the garden, and next to the pool he even had a lounge chair and some doll house patio furniture, so that he could sunbathe. There was a little gazebo, made of wood, on the edge of the garden, in which Crowley put his equipment away neatly, and had a working sink and his own toilet, and even some shelves and a second, smaller bed. When Aziraphale had suggested this was, in fact, a doll’s house, Crowley had locked the door and not spoken to him for several hours.

Crowley grew some herbs… A little bit of mint and parsley, some chives, some rosemary, a little garlic. Next to the pool, he had a tray of watercress.

And then, there were Crowley’s strawberry plants, which were his pride and joy.

He had grown them from seeds, and threatened them every morning and every evening while he watered them, and they had bloomed out nice and thickly, all big green leaves. There were eight of them, each of them wonderfully bright, and in an unused part of the backrooms of the shop, there were no mice or birds or fruit flies to come and nick his hard-worked strawberries, or harass _Crowley_.

And today!

Today was the day!

With his doll-sized secateurs, Crowley cut each strawberry just above the stem, carrying it over to the bowl Aziraphale had set beside his garden on a high stool, and it was a _bumper_ crop. These strawberries were a little smaller than they would be on the next crop, but they were still bigger than Crowley’s head, most of them, and he stumbled a little carrying them back and forth. He had _twenty-nine_ , when he counted, and there were still loads more strawberries along the plants, still with green bits, or still that pale greenish colour, not yet ripening, but soon…

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley said, swinging down the fireman’s pole he had insisted on having installed on the edge of the garden table, and which he had only fallen from twice, “I’ve picked them!”

“Oh, have you?” Aziraphale asked, glancing up from his book, and he beamed, leaning down and letting Crowley clamber up onto his palm (he’d left his Wellingtons on the path, as Aziraphale couldn’t stand having the soil trodden onto his feet). “Well done, my dear, they look scrumptious.” He picked up the bowl with his other hand, rinsing them under the sink, and he thumbed over Crowley’s hair. “We might enjoy these _together_ ,” he said sweetly.

“Sure,” Crowley agreed. In retrospect, he would kick himself for being so amenable, but Crowley’s nature was to be amenable, and Crowley’s nature was also to be so furiously optimistic as to forget, each time he reached to touch the metaphorical candle, that it burned.

He sat on the kitchen counter, watching as Aziraphale neatly drew his knife over the head of the strawberries, drawing away the leafy top, and then cut them into quarters. He was neat about it, fastidious, and Crowley could see the sticky pink juice of them clinging to his plump fingers. When he held one out to Crowley, Crowley didn’t even hesitate before leaned forward and licked some of the sweetness up.

“I rather like these with sugar,” Aziraphale said conversationally as he rinsed off his hands.

“No,” Crowley said. “With cream.” Crowley, his working jeans feeling a little bit tight, was thinking of Aziraphale eating the strawberries, white cream clinging to his lips, maybe to his fingers. He liked watching Aziraphale eat with his fingers, when Crowley wasn’t between them.

“You don’t think cream will be a bit heavy?” Aziraphale asked. “There’s an awful lot of strawberries in that bowl, Crowley.” In retrospect, another blaring alarm, delivered with a gently twinkling eye and a slight smile that Crowley didn’t realise for what it was.

“No,” he said, fidgeting slightly. “It’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, his tone as sweet as syrup, and went to the fridge, taking out a pot of cream. Crowley watched the way he drizzled it over the strawberries, white pouring decadently over the red fruit…

They sat back down on the sofa, then, the bowl settled on Aziraphale’s thighs, and Crowley sat on the curve of Aziraphale’s belly, fidgeting as he looked eagerly down, watching Aziraphale reach in… Yes, with his fingers, his _fingers_ , and pick out a piece of strawberry. He watched, then, as Aziraphale brought it up to his mouth, delicately enclosing his mouth around it, _sucking_ at the cream and the pink juice that stained it, and it went straight to Crowley’s prick, making him hot and excited. Aziraphale licked his fingers. Chewed. Swallowed.

“ _Yesss_ ,” Crowley hissed, and Aziraphale chuckled, his belly shifting beneath Crowley.

“You are funny, my dear. And so sweet is your crop! I shall be delighted to partake of the rest of the strawberries, when they’re grown.”

“Start with these,” Crowley said.

“So many there look to be, too! I’m sure I’ll have many to enjoy.”

“These ones first,” Crowley said, a little impatiently. “Come _on_ , angel.”

“You _have_ outdone yourself,” Aziraphale said, putting his finger under Crowley’s chin and tickling it, and it felt _good_ , but Crowley wanted to watch the angel _eat_ , and he wanted to watch him _now_.

“Would you just eat the strawberries, please?” Crowley pressed.

Aziraphale smiled. A moment passed between them. A moment of retrospection came and went.

Crowley, slowly, and with no small amount of dread, looked back to the bowl in Aziraphale’s lap, and the strawberries piled high inside, split into pieces that, while easily bite-sized for Aziraphale, were a dozen-bite-sized for Crowley. He looked, then, to the thick cream that they swam in.

His stomach gave an anticipatory lurch.

“You haven’t eaten today, have you, dear?” Aziraphale asked, his tone full of warm concern.

“Angel…”

“No fussing, Crowley. Enjoy the fruits of your labour.”

And he brought the first piece of strawberry to Crowley’s mouth.

It actually tasted nice, to start with. They were _good_ strawberries, deliciously sweet, and he worked hard on threatening them and watering them and making sure they were growing as well as they ought, and there was a satisfaction in a job well done.

After five of them, the satisfaction began to drain away a little bit.

After ten, he was feeling less satisfied, and more furious with the concept of strawberries in general.

After twenty, he was convinced that strawberries and cream would be his cause of death.

“Break, gimme a _break_ ,” Crowley moaned, tipping his head back against Aziraphale’s chest, and Aziraphale laughed at him, the movement of his belly making Crowley’s whole body lurch unpleasantly. Crowley was stuffed full, and he was much bigger than he had been the first time that Aziraphale had packed him full of the spaghetti, because Aziraphale was no longer being _cautious_. He knew exactly what Crowley could take, and he knew exactly what Crowley _wanted_ to take, which was far, far less than that.

He couldn’t _move_ , he was so full, and his stomach was cramping horribly, giving unpleasant shudders that shuddered right through him.

“Only a few more left now,” Aziraphale said cheerfully.

“I’ll _burst_. _”_

“Oh, don’t threaten, dear,” Aziraphale said, and brought another piece of strawberry up to Crowley’s mouth. Well-trained, by this point, Crowley didn’t have it in him to argue, and he took it, bite by bite.

He was _obscene_. He had a heavy, huge belly that made him look less like he was pregnant, and more like something had gone dreadfully, horribly wrong with a beach ball. He’d had to shuck off his clothes after the second fruit, and how his belly was taut and tight as a balloon, round where it came away from his body.

“Like a little gooseberry, aren’t you?” Aziraphale said affectionately, and began to stroke the rotund, distended mess of Crowley’s belly in gentle circles. It _hurt_ , but it soothed the cramps, too, and Crowley wailed.

He’d gained weight, in the past few months, and he had thought it would make a difference to how bloated he looked, when Aziraphale did this, but it really didn’t, not at all. He still looked _cartoonish_ , and he whimpered as Aziraphale kept pressing strawberries into his mouth.

He felt so _full_ , like he’d explode, and he was breathing shallowly, too frightened to take a big breath.

“Last piece, dear,” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley was aware of the words as if through a veil of water. He opened his mouth, looking blearily at the red fruit, and Aziraphale giggled, but brought it up to his own instead, sucking it from his fingers, and Crowley’s stupid, stupid prick was so hard he felt like he would die, standing to attention and rubbing against the distended roundness of his belly. Crowley shuddered, reaching to touch himself, but he couldn’t get his hands around the fat swell of his stomach, and so he rubbed it instead, feeling how packed full it was. He burped.

“ _Adorable_ ,” Aziraphale praised him, rubbing his belly a little harder and making him cry out. “You know, darling thing, it’s so sweet to see you get so hard for me, each and every time. It’s most enticing, Crowley.”

His finger was playing against Crowley’s prick now, still wet with cream, and Crowley hated how it jumped up for more of Aziraphale’s wet, warm finger, pressing against him, hated how his hips jumped up too, or at least they would have, if he _could_ move them.

“You know what would make me very happy?” Aziraphale asked.

“World peace?” Crowley suggested dizzily, feeling his bollocks drawing tighter and tighter, and feeling like he was floating some ways above the bookshop.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale mused, “but no, I was thinking more about getting my cum inside you.”

Crowley choked, and came.

His prick sputtered against his belly, hot satisfaction spreading outward and almost soothing the cramping in his belly, and he watched through a sheen of paraphilic enchantment, his lips parted, as Aziraphale brought his finger to his mouth and sucked it clean, moaning quietly to himself.

“Oh, you are _delicious_ , Crowley. And the cream, too! I must have the rest.”

He lifted Crowley up, and Crowley whined, but he didn’t wince or scramble away, as he would have in the beginning: he just spread his legs a little wider apart (as far as they would go) and let Aziraphale lap up the cum on his hard, stuffed belly, on his softening cock…

“As I was saying,” Aziraphale said conversationally, carrying Crowley in his state of half-unconscious agony (and bliss) into the kitchen, cradling him against his arm as he rinsed out the bowl. His fingers squeezed on Crowley’s belly, and each time, he moaned in pain, but his prick threatened to perk up again. “I would just adore to get my cum into you, dear.”

“I _would_ burst then,” Crowley mumbled, thinking of Aziraphale’s thick, fat cock, and feeling his own give a terrifying twitch at the thought of trying to cram the thing inside him.

“Were measures not taken,” Aziraphale said cryptically.

Crowley, this time, took the words for the oncoming threat that they were, and whined, but Aziraphale set him gently in a bowl of hot bathwater, full of bubble bath already, and it did wonders for the cramping of his stomach, so he couldn’t help but go quiet.

Aziraphale played his fingers into the water, stroking Crowley’s skin, and Crowley groaned, his head tipping back against the flannel that Aziraphale had folded at the side of the bowl, so that Crowley would have something to lay his head on.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” he said softly, tapping Crowley’s belly. “If you were all full up with _me_?”

Crowley closed his eyes, and when his prick started hardening again, in earnest, he moaned for Aziraphale to put his fingers lower.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t have a cock.

He did.

Crowley had seen it, when watching Aziraphale take baths in the big, clawfoot tub in his bathroom, reclining in the hot water with a book in his hand (only a cheap paperback, of course, nothing that wasn’t okay to risk in proximity to all that water) and a glass of wine, perhaps a plate of things to eat on the little table beside. It was short and girthy, and it was a little thicker in width than Crowley was himself.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have one, just that he’d never invited Crowley to touch it before. Crowley looked, from time to time, had even idly mentioned it, once or twice, but Aziraphale had merely shrugged his shoulders and kept on going about his day. But Crowley had looked. He’d examined it.

He’d…

 _Thought_ about it.

There was no crime in thinking, was there?

He was thinking about it now.

He was sitting lying sprawled across a little rubber duck in the bath, enjoying the hot steam from the water rising up to meet him. Aziraphale didn’t like bubble bath as much as Crowley did, and he just had some salts in the water to make it smell of lavender, so Crowley’s view of Aziraphale’s prick was unimpeded. He saw it soft against Aziraphale’s thigh, which was a very good thigh, fat and round and pale. It was soft, too, a thigh you could just grab onto…

Aziraphale turned a page, and Crowley pretended to be idle about paddling in the water, coming closer, between the angel’s spread knees. Aziraphale’s belly protruded from the water, the skin rosy and pink from the heat, the golden hair on it flattened wet against the skin, and Crowley clambered onto it as the duck brushed against it, his feet momentarily failing to get purchase on the wet skin before he grabbed Aziraphale’s navel for a foothold and pulled himself up.

“It does tickle when you do that, you know,” Aziraphale said mildly, not looking away from his book, but Crowley ignored him, making his way onto the main curve of Aziraphale’s belly and collapsing onto the skin, nuzzling into it.

“Angel,” Crowley said, tilting his hips just slightly against Aziraphale’s belly, looking up at him, “what did you mean? About getting your cum in me?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t concern myself with that, dear boy, were I you,” Aziraphale said.

“Well, I will concern myself with it, actually,” Crowley said, “given that it’s me your cum would be stuffed into. That’s quite concerning, I think.”

“Concerning, is it?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, yeah. Your cock is bigger than I am.”

“Is that why you have been gazing at it for the past ten minutes? Because you are _concerned_?”

Aziraphale’s blue-eyed stare flitted down to meet Crowley’s, and Crowley coughed, feeling heat rise in his face. He sat up on his knees, and Aziraphale looked at him expectantly, one of his eyebrows raised.

“’M not… _gazing_ ,” Crowley said.

“No?”

“No.”

“Well, my mistake, dear,” Aziraphale said, his head tilting to the side. “How would you describe the way in which you have been examining my cock, hm? Desirous? Wanting? _Lustful_?”

“Demons lust,” Crowley said defensively. “Part and parcel, innit?”

“I suppose.”

“What, is it… A funnel?”

“A _funnel_?”

“You know. For your cum. And my… A funnel?”

“My dear, I regret to inform you that at no point has a funnel factored into my plans.”

“Oh. A pump?”

“I’ve used a pump on you before.”

“But for your cum?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

“One of those icing bags? I hate those, angel. The nozzle’s too thick.”

“The nozzle’s the perfect thickness,” Aziraphale replied. “It makes your arse give the prettiest little winks. But, no.”

“A pipe?”

“No.”

Aziraphale marked his page, setting the book aside, and Crowley had to grab at him to keep from losing his balance as Aziraphale sank a little further into his bathwater, his legs spreading a little farther apart and pressing against the edges of the bath, and Crowley shivered.

“Why don’t we go to bed, hm?” Aziraphale asked, his voice soft and sweet, and Crowley braced himself for the sudden _shift_ of reality around them, the way that moisture steamed from his and Aziraphale’s skin at once, the sudden fall of Aziraphale’s body against the thickly quilted blankets on his bed. Aziraphale did not sleep, really, but he liked to put on his pyjamas most days and read in bed for a while, if only to give him a reason to put on new clothes in the morning.

He had seen Aziraphale touch himself before. Only twice, as the angel didn’t seem to have that big of a sex drive, but each time, it had been an occasion, and Crowley had watched him eagerly, watched the way he started by touching his thighs, his belly, his own nipples, his cock getting harder and harder between his legs, drawing it out, and then, _then_ , wrapping a hand around his prick and making it judder and jump in his palm.

Now, Crowley slid over the edge of Aziraphale’s belly, landing on the soft cushion of his thigh, and he looked with interest at Aziraphale’s prick, which was harder than it had been in the bath, was hard and standing up against his belly, and he took a step closer.

He’d never actually _touched_ it before, and it was a little taller than he was, and thicker around the middle than he was by a long shot. It sprang up from more gold hair, and he looked with interest at the veins on it, the smooth skin of the shaft… He reached out, touching, and he traced some of the veins under his fingers, having to go up on his tip toes to trace one right to the head, and Aziraphale sighed, his cock giving a jerk. A little wetness bubbled up from the head dripping over Crowley’s fingers, and almost instinctively, Crowley brought it to his mouth.

He sighed, his eyes falling closed. Human cum tasted (or so he had been reliably informed) bitter, or salty, but Aziraphale’s cum didn’t taste like that at all, although it didn’t taste sickly-sweet, like Crowley’s did. It tasted _rich_ , sweet in the way that very expensive chocolate was, or heavy caramel that had been made with salt. It was sweet in a way you felt you could drown in, and Crowley groaned, falling back on his arse and licking greedily at his own palm.

“My _dear_ ,” Aziraphale murmured, and his finger traced a line down Crowley’s naked back, making the demon shiver.

“It’s _good_ ,” Crowley said, slurping slightly as he dragged his mouth over his fingers. He… _wanted_. It was a sort of deep set yearning, starting low in his belly, doing odd things to his libido and making his own cock lurch between his legs, but actual _sex_ was a little off the table, now. What he really wanted, _really_ wanted, was more of the angel’s cum, wanted to get it into his mouth, to taste it…

He stood up, and Aziraphale said, “My _dear_ boy, if your immediate plan is to use my testicles as a platform to stand on, I must ask you to reconsider.”

“I’m not that heavy!” Crowley said plaintively, and Aziraphale reached out, his palm flat for Crowley to pull himself onto, that he could lean in and press his whole body to Aziraphale’s cock. He _wanted_ , he _hungered_ , and he groaned as he thrust against Aziraphale’s cock, trying to get higher so that he could drag his tongue over the soft, slick flesh of Aziraphale’s cockhead.

His prick jerked again, and this time, the precum spattered against Crowley’s mouth, and he whimpered at the shot of the stuff right against his tongue, against his open lips, swallowing greedily. It was _good_ , wet and rich and sweet, and he wanted more of it, pressing his body more against Aziraphale’s prick. His head was spinning, full with dizzy confusion, and he lapped at Aziraphale’s cock head, hugging tightly to his prick as he did so. His own cock was hard, and there was a tight and confusing feeling tangling in his belly, but he barely noticed it, instead focusing on palming over and hugging and squeezing Aziraphale’s cock, trying to coax forth more of his delicious cum.

He was making so much noise, he realised, hissing moans coming out from his throat without his even realising, but he barely noticed. His world had narrowed down to a pinpoint, and that pinpoint was the head of Aziraphale’s cock, each little burst of cum making Crowley’s whole body throb with twin satisfaction and want, and he swallowed, guzzling the stuff down.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, his voice slightly strained, and he inhaled sharply, “my dear, if you continue in that vein, I really will…”

“ _Please_ , angel,” Crowley moaned, his skin tingling all over, his stomach giving a little lurch, and he swallowed, swallowed, _swallowed_. “More, more, please…”

He didn’t remember Aziraphale cumming. It all happened in one, sudden movement, and then it was like Crowley barely existed at all, like he was just there to swallow and lick and taste, the rich taste of it dazzling his senses and making him feel like he was floating in water or in the air itself, as he did his best to swallow it all down without spilling a drop of the precious nectar. His belly hurt, his own cock was sputtering as electric pleasured rippled through the whole of his body, but it didn’t matter, didn’t matter, because all he needed was more of Aziraphale’s cum, more, more…

When the torrent stopped, Crowley felt dizzy, slowly sinking back down to Earth in floaty little movements, and he fell back onto Aziraphale’s palm with a thud. With wonder, he stared down at his own full belly, only a small plumpness, compared to what Aziraphale had done to him in the past, but he put his palms against the rounded swell, moving his hands to hear the cum inside slosh. It was _radiating_ a sweet, pleasant heat, seeping into his bones and making him want to sleep, and he whimpered in a vague, overstimulated way, looking up at the angel plaintively.

“You sweet thing,” Aziraphale said affectionately, bringing him closer and tapping his belly with an idle finger, his lips quirking into a small smile. Crowley moaned, but it didn’t hurt, it didn’t even feel _tight_. He just felt heavy and well-stuffed, and it was making a honey-sweet pleasure run through his veins, making him feel dreamy and sleepy. “Wouldn’t that be nice, if I fucked you full of it, hm?”

“Wouldn’t fit,” Crowley slurred.

“My pretty little pet,” Aziraphale said, pressing down _hard_ on Crowley’s belly, and the pleasure was indescribable, shocking through his entire body like a lightning strike, and he cried out as his cock jumped.

“Angel, wanna sleep…!”

“Won’t you orgasm again for me first, dearest? You’ve tasted me, and _I_ want to taste _you_ …”

Crowley whimpered, but the squeezing made that incredible heat shoot through him, and before he even knew it, his prick was jerking again, weakly spraying wetness over his belly. Aziraphale lapped it up with prim little shifts of his tongue, making Crowley cry out, wriggling and squirming, and when Aziraphale brought the demon up to his body, laying Crowley against his neck.

Crowley laid on his side, but then gasped at the way it made the cum in his stomach shift, and he shivered, pressing his face against Aziraphale’s neck.

“Feelsss _weird_ ,” Crowley mumbled.

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale said, patting his arse in absentminded fashion. “It will do.”

 

 

The next morning, Crowley’s belly had mostly gone down, but there was still a slight roundness to it, and he felt sleepy and docile, even as he went around his garden, watering his strawberries and the rest of his plants. Aziraphale had bought some tracks, although he hadn’t bought a train yet, and so there were some tracks and a little station on the edge of his garden plot, now, waiting to be finished up.

Crowley thought, in an idle way, that once he finished watering the garlic, he would lie on the padded bench there and have a nap…

Then, there was a _smell_.

He sat up, inhaling deeply, and he looked at Aziraphale eagerly as he took in more of that scent, a beautiful fragrance that made him feel hot and light and excited inside, and Aziraphale came over, gently setting a blue-leafed plant Crowley had never seen before on the path. Crowley sniffed at it, taking in the head-splittingly good smell. Each leaf was broad and thick, the sort of leaf that was waxy and smooth to the touch, adjoining to thick stems, and he hummed as he took in their thick-on-the-air fragrance, letting it fill his lungs.

“It’s rather overpowering,” Aziraphale said pleasantly, “but you’ll get used to it, dear. I thought you might put it in that empty plot?”

“What _is_ it?” Crowley asked, climbing up the pot and burying his face against the leaves, and he heard Aziraphale chuckle as he dug aside some of the compost in the spare plot, making space to repot it.

“It’s called Angel’s Bane. You don’t get much of it here on Earth,” Aziraphale answered, taking up the plant and putting it down into the hole, and Crowley hummed, his eyes fluttering shut as he took it in. “It will bear fruit, but don’t eat any of it, alright?”

“Poison?”

“No, no. It’ll just be a bit overwhelming for you, dear. You can eat it on your own if you really want to, but I’d rather, hm, _supervise_. It’s hardly the Tree of Eden: it’s a very potent aphrodisiac, you see. I fear you’ll be quite taken away with it if you eat it on your own.”

Crowley shivered.

“Mm,” he mumbled, and thought about the Tree of Eden even as he put the new plant properly in its place. Between the beautiful smell of the thing and the lingering, warm haze from the cum stuffed in his belly, Crowley went through the day in a dream, napping on the bench in the station and barely stirring when Aziraphale lifted him up to bring him to bed.

The thing was…

“It’s _addictive_ ,” Crowley said, scowling at Aziraphale a week later. Aziraphale smiled at him, smiled that innocent smile that was always accompanied by smug, glittering eyes, and Crowley squirmed in his perch on Aziraphale’s knee, looking sidelong at Aziraphale’s prick, which was _hard_ , hard and wet at the head, and Crowley had never been so desperate to put his mouth on something in his _life_. His cock was hard, his body alight with heat in readiness, but it wasn’t a sexual urge, really: it was a deepset one, a kind of yearning, heated ache in his bones.

It had been three days since he’d first tasted Aziraphale’s cum, and he could barely get the stuff off his mind since. It was always there, a constant need in the background of his train of thought, a sort of quietly sizzling _hunger._

“I wouldn’t say _addictive_ , dear boy,” Aziraphale said. “It won’t _hurt_ you to go without.”

“I _want_ it.”

“Then have it.”

“But…” Crowley protested, and then he looked at the head of Aziraphale’s cock, glistening in the light. His mouth was _wet_ , he wanted it so desperately, and he gave in, scrambling forward and wrapping himself around Aziraphale’s cock again.

And that was just…

A new addition to the routine.

Crowley spent his days gardening, watering his plants, carefully pruning the ones that needed it, whispering dark threats for them to grow better, to be _better_ … He whispered no threats at all to the Angel’s Bane, which was beginning to grow fruit on fat little buds. He had expected it to be blue, like the leaves, but it wasn’t: it was _golden_ , shining as it grew, glittering in the light… And the plant itself had broadened and grown taller, spreading outward like an umbrella. It still smelled gorgeous, and the scent greeted him each and every morning, even as he went around his strawberries, the garlic, the chives, taking in all _their_ scents instead.

He napped, from time to time. He sought out Aziraphale and slept in his pocket, or curled up in the spot where his collar met his neck. Now and then, a customer would glance at the little demon, but it was so weird they usually brushed it off again, and forgot about it. He was sure he’d heard one customer calling his garden a _diorama_.

And in the evenings, at least one out of three, Crowley would go for Aziraphale’s prick.

It was _incredible_ , the taste of it, he just wanted to _glut_ himself on it, and Aziraphale would let him, chuckling at him, stroking his hair, playing with him… And it was good. It was _good_.

 

“My darling boy,” Aziraphale murmured one night, taking Crowley up in his palm, and his thumb ran over Crowley’s chest, stroking up from his navel and over his nipples. He had a nice thumb, soft, and Crowley moaned lowly as it played over his prick, the pad stroking gently against the shaft of it, and Crowley grunted, feeling a heated thrum run down his body, coiling behind his bollocks.

Aziraphale’s thumb slipped lower, pressing between his legs, and Crowley whimpered.

“Too big!”

“Don’t be silly, dear,” Aziraphale said softly, and slickness gathered on the top of his thumb as he pressed it up between Crowley’s buttocks, massaging over his hole. Crowley’s breath hitched, and he moaned, feeling the wetness pressed against the muscle there, and he pressed, rubbed…

Crowley moaned. It felt _good_ , a pleasant pressure as Aziraphale rubbed back and forth over the muscle, working it over, but then he lowered Crowley down…

“Oh, no!” Crowley whimpered, struggling, but Aziraphale’s thumb pressed down against his chest, pinning him in his place. “Angel! _Angel!_ It’s too big, it’s too big…!”

“Shh, dear, shh,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley gasped as his arse was pressed apart, Aziraphale’s prick lining up against his arse. His head was wet at the head, and as soon as Aziraphale’s precum touched his open hole, that gorgeous, golden pleasure seeped into him, making him whimper.

Aziraphale was stroking himself with his other hand, and Crowley jumped and shuddered, but couldn’t move, even as Aziraphale moaned lowly. He could feel Aziraphale’s prick twitching, his slit shifting as more wetness came from him, and he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ …

Aziraphale sighed, and he pressed his prick right against Crowley’s open hole, holding him tightly. The pressure was maddening, sudden shots of cum pumping into him, each one a surge of golden-hot pleasure, but Crowley still cried out, feeling it all pump into him, and Aziraphale just kept _going_. There was so much of it Crowley was left shouting out rasping noises, and Aziraphale laughed at him, pumped him so full of cum Crowley thought he’d _die_.

He slid a plug into him, once he was done, but Crowley was barely cognizant of it: the hot, incredible heat of Aziraphale’s cum was even stronger pumped into his arse than it had been when he’d swallowed it, and he felt _dizzy_ , hazy and out of it as he lolled back on Aziraphale’s palm. It seemed to diffuse into his whole body, seeping into his bones, out into the very tips of his toes, his fingers, his every nook and cranny…

It was heavy, Aziraphale’s cum inside him, but it was a _good_ weight, a deepset pleasure that was satisfying beyond measure, and he moaned vaguely.

“Look at that,” Aziraphale said mildly. “You came.”

He licked a stripe over Crowley’s cock, and Crowley’s body lurched, his swollen belly sloshing, but he felt like he was floating several storeys above the world, let alone Aziraphale’s bed, and he was limp in Aziraphale’s hand, suspended in the ecstasy of it.

“My dear thing,” Aziraphale said sweetly. “Why don’t you sleep, hm?”

“Mmm…”

The next morning, it was hard to concentrate.

Crowley felt slow and stupid, and the plug Aziraphale had worked to him was thick and flared at the base, keeping every drop of Aziraphale’s cum stuffed inside him, rounding out his belly, meaning that he was left awkwardly waddling around. Aziraphale gently deposited him on the garden’s edge, so that he didn’t have to climb the ladder, and Crowley groaned as he moved about, keeping a vague eye on Aziraphale as he moved some furniture about.

The scent of the Angel’s Bane was especially strong on the air today, and Crowley inhaled it with a dazed hum, walking very slowly toward it. It was hard to concentrate with the warm weight of Aziraphale’s cum inside him, slowing down much of his brain’s higher functions, but the plant, yeah, it _cut_ through the haze, smelled sharp and delicious…

“The fruit ripe?”

“It does look it, doesn’t it dear?” Aziraphale murmured, and he bent down to examine the fruit as Crowley did himself. There were about eight fruits growing on the plant, and the one that was ripe was a perfect, golden orb, about the size of a plum. It smelled phenomenal, so fat and plump and juicy that it weighted down the stalk it grew from, and Crowley reached for it, bringing his palm over the surprisingly smooth surface of it skin. “Would you like to try some?”

“Mmm,” Crowley nodded blearily, and Aziraphale chuckled at him, stroking his hair as he lifted him up, and gently plucked the fruit as he did so.

“My darling one,” he murmured. “You know, I had _heard_ that there was an effect like this one, but I had no idea it would be quite so exaggerated. You’re ever so sweet like this, Crowley. I rather feel I could do anything to you…”

Crowley frowned, but Aziraphale didn’t go into any further detail, and instead gently set him on top of the leather padded stool from the corner, pottering about him for a few moments. Out of it and floating on the pool of satisfaction stuffed into his belly, he watched Aziraphale with slow-moving, unfocused eyes, and then Aziraphale set the fruit into his lap.

It smelled _divine_ …

“There you are, dear,” Aziraphale said. “Eat your fill.”

“Can’t eat this whole thing, angel,” Crowley mumbled.

“We’ll see.”

Crowley touched his fingers to the smooth, glittering skin of the fruit, and he tore his fingers into it, feeling it give way easily under the press of his hands. The juice glittered over his fingers, and he brought it slowly to his mouth, taking in the scent… And then he tentatively licked some, and it was as if the haze over his brain snapped.

Crowley moaned, his vision, his consciousness, suddenly focusing to hyperclarity, and he stuffed the flesh on his fingers into his mouth, pressing it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, feeling the sweet, sweet juice burst from it. It was startlingly sweet, but it slid easily over his tongue, and it was so wet, so juicy, it was _delicious!_

He was barely aware of the sudden movement of his hands, dragging the fruit closer to him, even though it pressed the fruit against his fat, full belly, and he dug in with his teeth, greedily biting into the fruit and swallowing down mouthful after mouthful, feeling how easily the golden flesh slid down his throat, settling in his belly.

“How is it?”

“Mmm,” Crowley moaned, and he kept eating.

With the cum already stuffed into him, stretching him fat and wide, it maybe should have hurt to overfill his stomach too, but between the desperate sweetness of the fruit, so sweet it made his blood sing, and the lingering pleasure of Aziraphale’s cum inside him, the pain was lost by the wayside. He felt so full he could barely stand it, but he had to keep eating, he wanted more of this gorgeous fruit inside him, and it was so good, so good…

The focus faded a bit when he got down to the stone in the middle of the fruit, suckling and dragging his tongue over it smooth, black surface, making sure he got every piece of clinging flesh, every drop of juice, and then he suckled at his own fingers.

He looked down at his belly. It was the same pregnant swell as before, not seeming any bigger, but he could feel the weight of the flesh crammed inside him, on top of the liquid weight of Aziraphale’s cum, and he exhaled, pressing down on his taut belly and whining at the pain, the hot, stinging pain, that sang through him as he pressed down on the tightened skin.

“Aziraphale?”

“I’m right here, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley looked at him, but he…

There was _noise_.

He glanced around, baffled, but he could hear it – shouts and yells and growls, and he watched as Aziraphale bent down, picking something up and dropping it into the basket he held in his hand.

Laboriously, every movement a delicious Heaven-Hell on his heavy stomach, Crowley crawled to the edge of the stool, and he stared down at the bodies on the glue traps Aziraphale had arranged around the it in a neat circle, the demons sticking on the glue and shouting as they tried to get free.

“What the…?”

“You’ve done so well for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale said pleasantly, and Crowley stared as he picked up one of the demons, who was _wild_ , his eyes wide, his teeth bared, even as he struggled and swore for the angel to let him go.

“Let him free!” Crowley shouted, and Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “Angel, don’t, don’t eat him, let him go, why…?”

“Let him go?”

“Yeah!”

“Very well, dear,” Aziraphale said primly, and dropped the demon on the stool beside him, dazed and thrown.

Crowley crawled a little closer, even though it made his full belly ache and slosh, and he examined the demon carefully. He was very pale, and he was big and brawny, not a demon Crowley was familiar with.

“You alright?” Crowley asked. “It’s okay… What’s your name?”

The demon looked up at him, and then his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. Then, he lunged.

“Agh!” Crowley yelped out as the demon shoved him down onto his back, pinning his wrists in place and dragging his mouth over the side of Crowley’s neck, sucking and kissing at the skin, biting at it. His belly pressed up against Crowley’s, shoving it painfully and squeezing him, and Crowley cried out. “Get off, get off!”

He tried to flare out with his magic, but he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t get it to _work_ , not with Aziraphale’s cum filling him up, dissolving his ability to have a clear thought in his head.

“Do you know something about Angel’s Bane, Crowley?” Aziraphale said pleasantly as the demon shoved his cock between Crowley’s legs, letting it bluntly thrust against the plug in Crowley’s arse, up against his own cock. It was big, for a demon’s cock, and Crowley hadn’t even had the small enema nozzle in him for days, and he whimpered as he tried to kick the bastard off. Aziraphale’s cum and the little plug was one thing, but a cock like that? No, no… The demon was huge compared to Crowley, much too muscular, much too broad, and all of Crowley’s kicking didn’t do a thing. “We call it that because demons, little pests that you are, just love the stuff, but when you eat the fruit, on top of it doing some most delightful things to your biology, you radiate a rather sexed-up aura. It makes other demons go utterly wild. You go outside and see all these demons glutting themselves on the fruit and each other, a veritable orgy is quite inevitable.”

Big demon was catching on now, and he tugged at the plug in Crowley’s arse, tugged at it hard, and Crowley yelled, struggling and unable to get free, his belly sloshing with Aziraphale’s cum as he writhed about.

“Wonderful as a beacon for them,” Aziraphale went on pleasantly. “I think I’ll have nearly two-dozen by the time that fruit wears off.”

The demon managed to tug the plug free, and Crowley screamed as he felt the demon’s cock lurch against his thigh.

“Aziraphale, Aziraphale, don’t, don’t let him…!”

“Shh, shh,” Aziraphale said, and dragged the demon off him, shouting and swearing and growling, and Aziraphale dropped him, without ceremony, into the basket. “Just making a point, dear, that’s all. Put your plug back in, Crowley, you’ll make such a mess.”

Crowley groaned, grabbing blindly for the plug and bending awkwardly to slip it back into his arse, and he watched Aziraphale pluck up more of the demons, dropping them into the basket.

“They’d have fucked you blind, dear, if I let them get to you,” Aziraphale said sweetly. “I could have, you know. I might have placed you on the floor where they could reach you, watch them all have their turn at that darling little arse of yours. Wouldn’t that have been nice?”

“You’re gonna eat them all?” Crowley asked. His prick was hard, he noted, absently. He wanted to reach it but couldn’t, not with his belly as fat and heavy as it was, and he groaned as he stroked his palm over the big swell of it. Why was he hard? _Why_?

He looked at the basket as Aziraphale dropped in two more of the demons.

“Not all _myself_ ,” Aziraphale said pleasantly. “We’re going to have a little dinner party, you and I as hosts, my darling thing. And I shall be making up the most _delicious_ table displays, hm?”

Crowley stared at the basket.

He hated himself for the twist of arousal in his belly.

“Angel,” he whined. “I can’t reach my prick.”

“Oh, you _poor_ thing,” Aziraphale murmured, and he set the basket aside. It juddered, and Aziraphale reached forward, stroking his fingers gently over Crowley’s prick. “And do you know what will come of this party, hm?”

“Angel… Angel…!”

“I’m going to get my prick into you, dear,” Aziraphale said, his gaze focused on Crowley’s face, and Crowley choked on hair. “I’m going to fuck you nice and full.”

Crowley came, and he stared dazedly at Aziraphale as the angel sucked his fingers clean of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the long wait ! 😥 😬 😖 My file glitched and I lost a lot of work and had to rewrite. 😓 😣 The next part will be the last chapter of this story though ! So glad people have been enjoying it, it is very flattering and sweet to hear. 🌈🌼🌞 
> 
> 🥨🍭🔮✌️🍯⚗️


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